Fear the Reaper: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (The Last Reaper Book 2)

by J. N. Chaney

  When two men came in a little while later, everything changed.

  The way they moved radiated danger despite their forced nonchalance. “Those two are trying too hard to be inconspicuous,” I said.

  Frank nodded, watching them over his coffee cup.

  The leader of the pair motioned for Jimmy to approach the counter. “Are you James Callow?”

  “Something like that,” Jimmy said, throwing his counter towel over his shoulder and crossing his beefy arms.

  The man grabbed a fistful of his apron and the t-shirt underneath it, pulling him forward.

  This time, I put my hand on Frank’s arm, warning him to stay put.

  “I don’t like bullies,” Frank grumbled.

  “Just wait,” I said.

  “You got a girl with dark hair working for you?” the man asked. “And think before you answer. We ain’t the type of people you want to mess with.”

  The second man took a guard position, watching the crowd and the door for cops or other good Samaritans.

  Jimmy tried to break the smaller man’s grip but couldn’t do it.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” the man said, giving Jimmy a shake.

  I made a note. These guys were more than they seemed. Dressed to blend, I suspected their bland attire concealed weapons, body armor, and physiques trained by hours of hand-to-hand combat training. The easy way the lean man handled someone who was almost twice his size spoke volumes to his capabilities.

  “What do you want? I’ve got customers,” Jimmy complained, his face turning red from the strain.

  His attacker slowly twisted the t-shirt collar against his neck. “You won’t have any customers if you don’t give me what I want. Where is the girl?”

  Frank leaned close to me. “You know these guys?”

  “No. But I know why they’re here.” I wanted to run these jerks out of here, but needed information. Brawling might feel good, but it was a poor way to gather useful intelligence.

  Jimmy’s attacker drew back one hand and slapped him across the face. “That’s to get your attention. No one has to get hurt, not even the girl. I just need to check on her for someone.”

  Elise came out of the back room with a tray held high overhead. She saw what was going on immediately and put the tray on the other end of the counter. She marched past a half-dozen customers and planted her feet in front of the two men who had invaded the diner.

  “You let go of him right now!” she said.

  The man shoved Jimmy back, then advanced on Elise.

  She retreated a step, but only one step and only to solidify her balance.

  “We have to do something,” Frank whispered desperately.

  “Not yet. Wait. Follow my lead,” I said.

  “Listen, sir, we’re trying to work, sir. So get out of Jimmy’s place, sir,” Elise said, hammering the word “sir” each time she said it.

  “You’ve got an attitude,” the man drawled, looking her over, probably off balance from her angry beauty. “I thought you’d be some street rat kid who didn’t know what was good for herself. Do you know what’s good for you?” He grabbed his groin.

  She shoved him with both hands, driving forward with her legs and torso strength. “Get the hell out of here. Just go. You fucking asshat!”

  “Oh, what happened to calling me sir?” the man asked, laughing now.

  “Fuck off,” Elise said. “Sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t mean to swear. It just slipped out.” She cast the apology over her shoulder.

  “You have to come with us,” the second stranger said.

  “All right! That’s enough. The police are on their way. I hit my panic alarm. They come quick when I do that. All the cops on this beat know me,” Jimmy said, shouting the first part.

  I twisted the barstool a few inches toward the deescalating confrontation. If the two men refused at this point, they would be under time restrictions and would probably use actual violence to speed things up. The contract was for recovery of a Union asset dead or alive.

  The first man backed away, holding up his hands. “It’s all good. We’ll be back. You better not run off, girl. We’ll be watching.”

  “Go to hell!” Elise shouted at him. “Sorry, Jimmy,” she apologized again over her shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Elise,” Jimmy said, coming around the corner to stand between her and his two least favorite customers.

  The men left. Jimmy threw up his hands in frustration, but then laughed, making the gesture a joke. “Sorry about that, everyone. I hope a free round of coffee and ten percent off everyone’s ticket makes up for the drama.”

  Several people told him he didn’t have to do that and the scene slowly returned to normal. I kept my eyes on the counter, not wanting Elise to see me yet.

  “Jimmy is a good guy. When he’s gone, there won’t be any more places like this,” Frank said. “Shouldn’t we talk to Elise now?”

  “No. I want to have a word with those two dumbasses, see who sent them and what they know about the contract,” I said, moving toward the door. To my surprise, Frank followed me. He looked pale but determined.

  Following the men was tricky. They didn’t seem to have military or law enforcement training, but there was a method to their madness. Every quarter block, they separated—one crossing to the other side of the street for a while. They always met up and headed back the way they came for a bit, then continued in toward their actual destination—whatever that might be.

  “These guys are skittish,” Frank said.

  “They’re checking for a tail. Not doing a bad job, but we’re right at the edge of where they might recognize us. That’s the hard part about following a target—too close and they see you, too far and you lose them.”

  Asshole One and Asshole Two turned in to a narrow alley.

  “Here we go,” I said. “Hang back. Try not to get involved.”

  “Do you want me to set up at the entrance and keep watch?” Frank asked.

  I nodded. “That would be outstanding.”

  My targets must have made me, because they turned to confront me the moment I reached the point of no return.

  “Who do you think you’re following, asshole?” the quieter of the two said.

  In the diner, he’d been the lookout and had done a good job focusing his attention on the door instead of the confrontation with Elise. Things had changed. He looked like he was ready for a fight, probably tuned up from all the adrenaline of their little show.

  “I’m talking to you,” he repeated.

  “Not for long, you aren’t,” I said.

  “What?”

  I punched him on the tip of his jaw with my natural arm, dropping him like yesterday’s news.

  The other man lunged, but then stopped when he saw the blade I’d snapped out of my left fist.

  “We’re following the contract perimeters. Whoever gets her first, collects. You’re not supposed to interfere with other contractors,” the remaining man said.

  “I know how to read a contract,” I said, backing him toward the wall with my presence. “And you can shove all of that up your ass. I’ve got questions for you and you’re going to answer them.”

  The man slipped to one side, clearly trying to escape.

  I retracted my blade and grabbed him.

  He struggled.

  I slammed him against the wall. None of the training that had allowed him to manhandle Jimmy helped him now. Even without my Reaper gear, I had him by years of experience and hard work.

  “Shit, you’re strong,” the man gasped as I closed my fist around his throat. He clawed at my hand with both of his.

  “And impatient,” I added. “Tell me what I want to know or I’ll pop your head off.”

  He grunted, concentrating on getting free more than my words.

  I wasn’t sure if I could actually decapitate him, but now didn’t seem a good time to try it. Relaxing my grip slightly, I gave him a little shake, hoping some words would come out.

  “I don’t
have to help you,” he managed, forcing the words through his clenched teeth and restricted larynx. “Who are you working for? Don’t you know the code?”

  I didn’t bother to answer. “Tell me what your contract details are?”

  “What? They’re the same for everyone,” he said.

  That was a commonly held misconception. The contract always said that the details were the same for all operators, but they never were. I not only fulfilled my share of contracts while working for the Reaper Corps, but I’d written a few as diversions. This guy thought he was a pro, but he was just a rookie assassin in my book.

  “Let me explain my code,” I said, leaning into him, lifting him up onto his tiptoes. “I’ll track down your family, your friends, the girl you had a crush on when you were ten, and bury them.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Unless you tell me every godsdamn thing I want to know,” I finished.

  “What are you?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  “Where were you supposed to take the girl when you kidnapped her? Who is your contact?” I demanded.

  “Fuck,” he gasped, the word coming out as a throaty whisper. His eyes lost focus for a second. He fought for survival. “The Union. It’s a Union contract. No one is supposed to know that, but I have a source. We’re taking her to Port 595.”

  I dropped him, snatching the gun from his concealed holster as he fell. “Congratulations. You get to live another day. Forget about this contract if you want to continue living.”

  He scrambled away from me but stopped to check on his friend.

  I held out my hand. Once he realized what I wanted, he tossed me his friend’s pistol and a belt full of knives.

  “Thanks. See, that was easy.” I found Frank nervously guarding the entrance to the alley and motioned for him to start walking. We headed quickly away from the scene, taking several corners and then stopping to make sure the men I had abused weren’t trying to follow me.

  I didn’t think they were that stupid, but there was no way to predict the behavior of killers who had just had their egos crushed.

  “I’m glad you didn’t kill them,” Frank said quietly. “I heard what you said. I don’t think I can take this. I’m not a Reaper. I hope you didn’t mean what you said about killing their families and all that. But it sounded believable. All I wanted to do was run home and check on my wife and kids.”

  “Thanks for staying as long as you did. That would’ve been really uncomfortable if a couple of cops had interrupted our little talk,” I said.

  Frank didn’t respond. I’d pushed him too far.

  14

  “Go home, Frank,” I said. “Hug your family.”

  He nodded without making eye contact and left, lighting up a cigarette but holding it down just as I expected. What I hadn’t anticipated was the way he snuck a metal flask from the inside of his jacket and took a sip. Whiskey was what he needed to calm his nerves after a few hours with me.

  He’d never been a drinker. I hoped he didn’t go on a bender and do something stupid. I had treated him like a chess piece in a deadly game. But he was a person with a life. He’d been one of my only friends.

  Including him in this mission had probably been the end of that.

  The moment I lost sight of my old friend, I turned back toward the assassins I had handled so roughly. It took me longer than I’d hoped to locate them. They were moving quickly, clearly shaken by our encounter.

  The first part of my information gathering was the “interview” and the second was surveillance. I wanted to see if what they told me matched up with what they actually did.

  I also thought, on further reflection, that allowing them to live had been a mistake. They were too dangerous to have lurking around in the shadows with a score to settle. “X, have you been able to learn anything about my new friends?”

  “Certainly, Reaper Cain. The first individual is Britton Michaels. Goes by Brit. He attempted several times to get into the Constables but was rejected for unlisted reasons. He dropped out of the public education system and ran with gangs for a time, then disappeared for two years. When he returned to Greendale, he partnered with the second individual, Roger Olathe,” X-37 said.

  “What’s his story?” I asked.

  “Very similar, but without the two-year disappearing act. He ran with the 22nd Street gang for a time and developed quite a reputation as an enforcer. There’s a note from local law enforcement intelligence briefs that say he’s still on good terms with the 22nds.” X-37 faded out for a minute and returned in the middle of a sentence. “… Agree with your decision to eliminate them.”

  “I missed some of that. That connection,” I said.

  “Do you want me to start from the beginning?” X-37 asked incredulously.

  “No. File it for later. I think I got the general idea,” I said, checking my back trail for any surprises. Nothing that X-37 had told me, or that I had witnessed, suggested there was a third conspirator, but it never hurt to be careful.

  My caution was rewarded when I spotted Briggs and Crank in plainclothes. They moved through the crowd with less finesse than covert operatives would. It wasn’t their appearance or even the way they moved that made them stand out, but the hard look in their eyes. Neither of them spoke unless absolutely necessary. These were men looking to do violence.

  “My recommendation is to avoid them,” X-37 said.

  “Agreed. I’ll do another sweep of the area. Tell me if you pick up any other spec ops personnel. They wouldn’t come down here without the rest of the squad,” I said.

  “Your analysis is correct,” X-37 agreed. “However, I’m unable to detect other Union soldiers in this crowd. Thank you for providing the visual import.”

  “Zag City is a big place. They may have split up to cover more territory,” I said.

  “I think they’re looking for us,” X-37 warned. “I defeated a sensor scan that was calibrated for my specific bandwidth. It’s a simple technique, but often effective. I’m actually impressed.”

  Evading two of the best Union soldiers I’d ever encountered while tracking two dangerous assassins was a challenge. I kept Michaels and Olathe in view for a while, but they continued with their herky-jerky counter surveillance pattern, splitting to opposite sides of the street and constantly moving back the way they’d come. Briggs and Crank methodically swept the public areas in the type of grid pattern that left nothing to chance.

  “You will have to make a decision soon,” X-37 said. “Trying to do two things at once will result in failure.”

  “You’re not wrong, X,” I said. My encounter with the local assassins bothered me more the more I thought about it, but I knew Briggs and Crank. They were the bigger threat. I focused on evading their methodical search and kept an eye out for other spec ops personnel I suspected were also in the area.

  It wasn’t long before I lost sight of Michaels and Olathe.

  “I don’t think Briggs knows where Elise is,” I said. “There’s a chance he’s only here for me, but I think the Union wants her more than they want me eliminated.”

  “Your analysis is sound,” X-37 said. “They dedicated several spec ops teams, a fleet battle group, and brought in a Reaper from retirement to try and recover her the first time on Dreadmax. She’s definitely a high-value target for them.”

  “I’m going to increase my distance from Briggs and Crank, then start for the diner. If Elise is still there, I’ll make contact and return to the ship. If not, I’ll have to reevaluate. Frank didn’t know where she was living and you already confirmed the address in the contract intelligence brief didn’t actually exist,” I said, stepping back into a doorway to watch my enemies from a distance.

  A short time later, I rounded a corner and spotted Frank reuniting with his family. His kids played in one of the corner parks just off the street and he stood hugging his wife, his face buried in her shoulder.

  The scene really made me think. So far, my time on Greendale had
been a routine mission—not especially challenging aside from some of the technological difficulties with X-37 and a generous helping of pain. We tracked down Elise, did close surveillance without compromising our position or alerting the target, and gathered intelligence from two adversaries.

  I thought about the scene and Frank’s reaction to it. He’d been pale as a sheet when I came out of the alley, but he had stood guard. The man was loyal to a fault—and brave. The things I’d said about killing the families of Michaels and Olathe had really effected him. He was a family man. The life of a Union soldier was years in his past.

  I heard a voice that prompted me to step into a doorway before even looking over my shoulder.

  Briggs and Crank were so close that I’d overheard their crosstalk, even though they weren’t raising their voices and there was the noise of other pedestrian traffic interfering.

  They passed by me, almost close enough to touch.

  Frank shouted, taking back my attention. “I’m not part of that. Get the fuck away from her!” His chest was pressed forward and hands balled into fists. Behind him, his wife was edging toward the kids like she might grab them and make a run for it.

  X-37 beeped me, using the soft tone he had adapted from Jelly’s routine to warn me he was jumping into a conversation—a particularly useful habit when I had a lot of other stimuli.

  “This behavior is consistent with the dossiers of Michaels and Olathe. The first is a bully who lashes out, and the second is just sadistic,” X-37 said. “Your friend is in real danger.”

  I’m not sure I heard everything X-37 said, because I had already made my own decision.

  Commander Briggs and Sergeant Crank moved closer, slowing down, sweeping their eyes over the crowd, hands under their long coats—gripping weapons, probably Union-issued short-barreled HDK (Highly Destructive Kinetic) carbines with silencers.

  They were between me and Frank’s dilemma.

  Lowering my chin, I flipped up the collar of my trench coat and stepped out onto the sidewalk, walking quickly, moving dangerously close to the Union soldiers on my way to make another bad decision. I saw Briggs perk up like he sensed something.